


Bruised

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [500]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Bullying, Gen, smol!tracy's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 12:59:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12631560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: shadow-kirk requested: Alan, Scott, and Virgil, finding out Alan is being bullied in school (Small Tracy's!)





	Bruised

Alan’s used to being the smallest.  It’s a good place to be; small meant getting piggy-back rides and hugs that lift your feet off the floor.  Small meant getting the best treats, meant being able to curl up in the tiny spaces between bigger bodies to fall asleep during movie night, only to wake in the morning tucked up safely in bed.

Small is good right up until Alan’s sent away for his first term at boarding school.

They’re lined up by height in gym class that very first day, and Alan looked along the line with large eyes.  He scurried along hallways dwarfed by bigger boys, buffered by their passage.

It starts unintentionally, he has to believe that.  But now they swerve out of the way to send him crashing into lockers, laughing as he sprawls on the linoleum floors.

By the time the term break comes around, Alan’s bruises have joined forces to line his skin with mottled darkness the length of his uniform.  Alan kept his eyes down, his arms folded as his Grandma asked how he was liking his new school, whether he’d made any friends. He mumbles answers until she turns away and he can make his escape.

“Are you too big for piggy-back rides, squirt?” Virgil booms as Alan tries to make his escape back to his room.  His flinch was lost in the hug Virgil engulfs him with.

His squeak was small but full of pain as Virgil squeezes all the sorest points of his bruise.  “Allie?”

Alan tries, batting hands away, suddenly desperate to escape, but Virgil was bigger and stronger and managed to peel up Alan’s too-large hoodie to reveal the marks he’s so desperate to hide.  “Holy…who did this?”

Alan had never heard that edge in Virgil’s voice before.  “I fell…” he mumbles, not looking at Virgil’s face.  He couldn’t take what he thought he’d see there.

“And who pushed you?” Virgil’s hands were gentle even as he smoothed Alan’s hoodie down, let him pull back.

Alan shook his head and said nothing.

“Alan, we need to tell dad.”

Alan took a sharp step backwards.  “No…” That felt wrong, like admitting defeat, worse than hitting the linoleum over and over again.

“Alan, if they’re hurting you?”

“Who’s hurting Alan?”  Alan’s almost pressed into the wall in his desperation to curl away from the figures looming over him now.  He tries not to listen to Virgil and Scott talking about him, tries to pretend he was somewhere else than here once more.

“Alan?”  Scott’s voice is gentle as he crouches down, almost kneeling on the carpet.  He’s gentle, offering rather than pulling, and Alan pushes off the wall to rock into Scott’s embrace.

For a flash, he remembers how good it used to feel to be small, to be held tight like this.  Then his bruises started to sing their song of pain once more and all Alan felt was  _tired_.

“We’ve got you, little brother,” Scott murmured in his ear.

Alan held on and let himself believe that.


End file.
